


The Less Desirable Duties of a Head of House

by Silbane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, No Romance, Other, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbane/pseuds/Silbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late-night visitor at Professor Snape's door inadvertently leaves him with an important task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Less Desirable Duties of a Head of House

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't a romance, and I mean that literally. There's no relationship here so don't read it expecting one.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of rape, with no description of the act, only the aftermath.
> 
> NON-SERIOUS WARNING: I was lying in bed the other night and got this spark of an idea, and simply could not sleep until I wrote the whole thing out. So here we are.

A soft knock echoed into Professor Snape's chamber late one night as he sat before the fire. Begrudgingly he looked at the clock and set down his teacup, the time nearing an hour past midnight. He stood, dawning his teaching robes with a flourish.

The knock did not repeat itself as he strode to the door of his classroom, he noted, hopefully meaning whatever issue had come up it would not be an urgent one. He took on a neutral face and opened the door and laid eyes on the student in front of him. Standing at no more than a full head and a half shorter than him, rubbing her rheum ridden eyes, was Clover Corvus. Her sleep-tossled brown hair glittered in the dark candlelight of the hallway and Snape nearly sighed with frustration at being bothered so late for what he could only imagine was some sort of particularly bad nightmare, though it seemed out of character for Miss Corvus to be bothered by much of anything, the steely girl.

“Miss Corvus, may I ask what you are doing roaming the dungeons at-” the last two words of his question faded off of his tongue when she pulled her hands away from their task, revealing rather bloodshot and mascara caked rims and a red bruise on her cheek. He noticed a cut on her lip and that her hair was not glittering with shine but with blood. Purple marks lined her forearms. She looked up at him with an empty gaze, but there was desperation and subsiding terror hidden beneath.

“May I come in?” Her voice was thick and raspy, and she took a moment after to clear her throat with a wince.

He stepped aside and allowed her entry without responding, but when she passed the doorway and lingered beside him for a moment, uncertain with what to do, he closed the door and strode toward his chambers. “Come,” he called to her, and she followed slowly.

The professor offered her the chair opposite his, a small table separating them.

Like any other person his first instinct was to ask what had happened, but the evidence was apparent as she carefully sat herself into the stuffed, upholstered chair, gripping the armrests with white-knuckled hands, relying on the strength of her arms to guide her down. He glided to the coat hanger and removed his teaching robes, pretending not to hear her sharp intake of breath when her bottom met with the seat. He thought that being only in his trousers and frock coat would be a bit less intimidating to the girl, a courtesy reserved only for his younger Slytherins and even then only with... special circumstances.

When he turned around, she had drawn her knees up to her chest, having just enough room in the chair to do so, and was staring blankly into the lit fireplace. The professor walked to the table and took the second, unused cup beside his and filled it with tea. In a placating tone devoid of snark or spite, he asked, “Milk?”

She nodded.

“Sugar?”

She shook her head.

He made her tea and handed it to her then returned to his own chair, she looked up and thanked him quietly before turning back to her silent contemplation.

Several minutes passed and he couldn't ignore the feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He had already seen far less traumatizing things ruin the minds of many promising young witches and wizards in his short time as a teacher, and he had the utmost hope that she would remain one of his brightest pupils when this was all finished. But that would be far away from them right now.

Miss Corvus opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. She sniffled and cleared her throat, attempting again but this time successfully, “I'm sure you can assume what happened to me.”

He nodded, not that she was looking.

“You are the only one I felt comfortable coming to.” A small bit of pride bloomed in his chest that he squashed away. This wasn't about him. “And I'm sure you're wondering who it was.”

He didn't show the moment of panic that had run through him at the thought that it had been one of her fellow Slytherins who had violated her. He also didn't change from his passive expression, not wanting her to feel pressured to reveal it, though his curiosity was aflame. This wasn't the first time a student had come to him for aid during a crisis, but it was the first to be so personal. On her behalf, if her assailant's lifeless body wasn't already stowed away in a corner of the school, they would be dealing with him come morning.

“Well it's obviously someone we know.” She paused, “Or, two someones.”

He made a conscious effort not to crush the teacup in his hands or turn his eyes to her with surprise. _There had been two_. It took him a moment to let his sudden rage dull and she didn't speak throughout that time, perhaps for him, but likely to steady herself.

“Two Gryffindors, Quidditch players. Golden boys. I don't want to go after them, nothing would come of it.”

She opted to sip her tea for the first time while he tried not to object. As much as it disgusted him, her statement was true. Short of illegal administration of Veritaserum or forcing her to relive her nightmare vividly enough to put into a Pensieve, not much could be done from a school perspective. She continued. “I don't want to go to Poppy either.”

That he could understand. While the woman was as discreet as the day was long, it took a formidable, or worriless, soul to tell others of such an intimate hell.

She seemed comfortable enough now to not object to his prodding. His voice was lower in pitch than he intended, “Will you give me their names?”

She stretched her legs and placed her feet on the floor, but not in a way to leave. “No.” The girl lowered her teacup to her lap.

He set his own cup back into its saucer. “Very well.”

He stood and walked to a wooden cabinet, pulling out a contraceptive potion, a pain soothing potion, and a salve for her injuries. He closed the cabinet and placed them on her side of the table before seating himself again.

She drank the potions and pocketed the salve without questioning either.

They sat together without further conversation for a long while until she took a deep breath and stood. She locked eyes with him for the first time in what must had been an hour. “Thank you, sir.”

He dipped his head to her and she took her leave.

It would be three days until his next Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions class.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, he had his answer. Miss Corvus, as always, was one of the first to arrive to his classroom. She was accompanied by a close companion in her house who sat beside her with her usual finesse, and paid no mind to the loud hoard of Gryffindors arriving together; she clearly hadn't been told.

The only sign of anything amiss was the small flare of the girl's nostrils and the clench of her jaw as two of the more rowdy boys, Bradley Bunt and Geoffrey MacDonald, came in chatting together. To their credit, they didn't immediately look over to her, but he would notice as time rolled along that they would cast predatory glances at the girl.

During a quiet period devoted to studying near the end of class, the two boys exchanged a few hushed words that the professor's ears couldn't make out, but certainly didn't miss.

“Five points from Gryffindor, each, for disrupting class.” He met their dubious expressions with narrowed eyes, and smartly they said nothing and put their heads down.

A minute later, when he knew they were focused on their work, he shot a peek at the girl. He was surprised to see her staring back at him, her eyes impossibly wide. He could understand the alarm, but she had nothing to worry about. The boys had no idea he knew, that anyone knew; that much was evident.

The professor shook his head, silently telling her not to worry.

 

* * *

 

It would be months before anything the professor planned would be set into motion, two simple incidents and nothing more. The time was finally right, however, when just as he'd arranged, the promising fourth-year Marcus Flint had made chaser on their Quidditch team and they were squared off to face Gryffindor. The boy was young but trustworthy and ruthless, exactly what Severus needed to get the job done. A small meeting between the two, no questions asked, and Flint had his task.

An intense struggle warred on the pitch, the teams evenly matched until, _unfortunately_ , seventh-year Geoffrey MacDonald was pummeled in the back of the head with a Quaffle and was sent soaring down to the ground and off to St. Mungo's. Reprimand for the perpetrator seemed a possibility, but anyone who was watching the match could surely see it was only an accident. Severus later regretted not looking to the girl to see her expression.

 

* * *

 

The professor's stride was no more purposeful than any other time as he approached the table of a lone, blonde Gryffindor boy, huddled over his boiling cauldron. His posture was serious but his concentration was lacking, as far as the professor judged. All the better as he stopped beside the table to critique the boy's progress.

“Mr. Bunt, I see you're doing as abysmally as expected. Tell me, what do you think you should add next?” He blocked the chalk board with his body and hunched over the desk, staring at the boy's face while he switched some of the mashed black beetle eyes on the table with the tainted ones in his hand. As it was, all of the other students stood resolutely with their heads down, none of them noticing.

A moment too late to witness the exchange, he glanced down at the ingredients before him with uncertainty. “Uhh, the... black beetle eyes, sir?”

“Simply astounding. You've managed to _guess_ correctly, Mr. Bunt. Proceed.” The professor stood to his full height once again, moving along to the students behind the boy, repeating the stance with his back between the chalk board and their sight. This time to shield them.

The explosive reaction was small, but the acidity of the resulting mist was damning.

While the other students shrieked in panic but unharmed, one voice stood out, his shrill screams deafening amongst the chaos. Behind the fine spray around the boy's desk, you wouldn't be able to tell to what extent the damage would be to the skin of his face and hands, but the professor already knew that no amount of magic would fix it.

He stole a glance at Miss Corvus, whose eyes were glittering.

 

* * *

 

The school year was nearly over with by the time Miss Corvus came to his door again. He'd been waiting for months to see if the girl would return, not that it was at the forefront of his thoughts but merely on the back-burner. With two weeks of school left, he was pleased to see that there had been no change in her academic performance; if anything she'd become even more driven to do well in his classes, though he couldn't speak for her others.

At half past ten, he sat before the fire reading the latest Apothecary Monthly and heard a soft knock at the door of his classroom. He set the publication down onto the table beside his chair and gently squeezed the bridge of his nose; just two nights before, he'd been alerted to some mayhem that had broken out in the hallway of the dungeons, something regarding an insult thrown at someone's ancestral bloodline. The professor couldn't be arsed to care about who'd started it or who wanted to finish it, but rather gave them both a stern talking-to and threatened a hellish detention for whoever brought up the issue again.

He equipped his teaching robes and opened the door to see a non-bloodied, glittering halo of brown hair standing on the other side.

“May I come in?” She met him with clear eyes and no injuries to be seen, a welcome change from her last visit. He moved out of the way and let her step in, shutting the door behind her. He turned to move toward his study, but was instead stopped by the sudden embrace of thin arms around his torso and a head buried in his chest. Shock kicked in immediately and the professor moved to push her away, but her grip tightened. “No, don't!” Her muffled plea came from her face in his robes. He froze. “Just... please. Let me thank you.”

Miss Corvus relaxed her hold on his body and his arms settled. After several moments absent of movement, she pulled her head away and looked up at him with a serious expression on her face, lines of worry creasing her brows and eyes, aging her much more than they should. “Thank you, professor. And don't try to deny it, I know it was you. I just wish I knew how to repay you."

The professor was not one for mush and overt kindness, but he felt no shame or loss as he stared down at her, his hands coming to her shoulders in the closest thing to a _hug_ she or anyone would ever receive. “You can move on. Make use of your life and do what makes you... happy.” He strained with the last word, the sweetness of his words catching up with him.

She chewed at her lip and glanced away. “I was meaning to ask you about that.” Her eyes returned to him. “Have you ever thought of taking on an apprentice?”

The corner of his lip twitched in the smallest hint of a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and sorry for the very uncharacteristic (for me) lack of smut. If you don't feel like leaving a comment, kudos make my heart sing!


End file.
